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A Happy Day

Today is a happy day.

A sing-in-the-kitchen, air band in the car, 2 treats for the dog kinda day.

Last night brought an unexpected wave of relief. 

I let go. 

Of some drama, of some resentments and of some toxic expectations.

I spoke to friends from my past that really made me laugh.  I felt light and just … happy.

You’d think after yet another night of having my sleep interrupted by Butters – my happy wave would have waned. 

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Nope.

It did not.

I feel more sure of myself.  Open to whatever or whoever the universe has in store for me.  Ready to move on, open up and stop taking myself and others so seriously.

Actually giggled at work over an adorable unexpected sneeze … Giggled!  Bonkers.

I have no particular reason for this full to the brim, suddenly burdenless and boundless joy.  But I dig it. 

And I think I’ll keep it thank you very much. 

But I’ll share too.

giggle

Giggle Snaps

 

What is WRONG with me?  Since Friday I’ve been on a roller coaster of moods. 

Went from snapping at anything that dared to cut its eyes at me (inanimate objects included) to breathlessly laughing with my son.

Had flashbacks today of some of that laughter – which brought about the giggles at my desk.  Of course, that also brought eyes upon me and when they saw my screen was displaying something as mundane as the VA web portal, I’m sure they wondered whether or not they had a sane person in the helm of the loan ship.

I must have seemed a teeny bit demented.

Then I’m driving home today and started thinking about Christmas, the ever working in overdrive tangent part of my brain kicked a metaphor into my head, so now I’m maniacally laughing while driving at this thought:

My sex life (past tense as I am now in a self-induced celibate state) was much like a Christmas gift.  You know, the one you got that you give the mock ‘Oh!” eyes to, so you don’t hurt the gift givers feelings?  The one you politely smile at and say ‘thank you’ – all the while knowing you’re going to have to take responsibility for giving the gift you really wanted to yourself. My fault really for never telling Santa what I really wanted.

Left a scathing message for an Account Executive today after speaking to what seemed like a Rue 21 associate at their headquarters.  Did they want our business or not?  If so, assign a damn professional person to answer the phone with wanting to help coursing through their veins. 

I won’t even go into Sunday’s escapades – suffice it to say, when I want a burger, I WANT A BURGER and the mere fact that it’s 10:15 should NOT be an obstacle.  I think I scared my son.  He mentioned we really needed to get food into me.  He’s used to peace/love/compassion/tolerant mom.  Not mood swing mom. 

I’d blame all this on PMS, but apparently the male scientists have proven that doesn’t actually exist.  So I’ll blame it on the fact that I’m a Gemini.